The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most
by alinaandalion
Summary: The team takes on a job that leads to double-crosses and choices they never expected, and they all find out you never leave the past behind and it can change the present.
1. do you laugh in the face of danger?

**Okay, so this was originally supposed to be for the Leverage Big Bang. Complications with time and school and my muse meant that I couldn't get it even close to finished for the deadline, so I decided to post it here. **

**Just as a warning, this is a nonlinear story. So, things won't necessarily make a whole lot of sense because they're out of order, and past events and memories are mixed in with present happenings. I've set up the basic premise of the con in this chapter so I hope people can link the pieces together as the story progresses. We're just going to have to see how this goes. It's the first time I've tried writing a nonlinear story.**

**This story contains explicit language and sexual themes. If you do not want to read such things, stop and hit the back button. Flames are read, deleted, and forgotten immediately. Constructive criticism, however, is thoroughly enjoyed. I hope people read this and like it. :)**

* * *

><p>She thinks later as Javier Cruz is leading her into his hotel suite, his three constant bodyguards right behind them, that maybe agreeing to come here alone is a bad idea. She can feel her skin tingling, hot pinpricks that make her body feel heavier than normal. She knows that it's only the cocaine, though, and as long as Eliot isn't with her, she has to keep her wits about her.<p>

The sight of Tara lounging on one of the cream couches nearly blows that plan to hell.

She sees Tara tense up for just a moment before relaxing again, her blue eyes lighting up with curiosity.

Thankfully Javier is quick to make introductions since Sophie has lost the ability to make her tongue form words.

"Michelle, this is Annie Kroy. Miss Kroy, this is my girlfriend, Michelle Taylor. She has been very helpful with our more influential clients."

"I'm sure she is," Sophie replies, making sure the rough Cockney accent bleeds into her voice.

"Is that Tara?" Hardison's voice in her ear almost startles her out of character; it's been too long since she's done a line, and the effects are hitting her hard.

She shifts so that the video camera installed into her large brooch can catch a better shot of Tara. She sways on her feet and decides that she needs to sit down. Immediately. She drops a little ungracefully onto the couch beside Tara.

Javier prepares a few lines, and Sophie watches his deft movements. Her mouth is too dry.

"Okay, Soph, stick to the plan."

Nate might have meant for his statement to be calming, but his voice, pitched low and tense with worry, only speeds up her heartbeat and makes her blood thrum in her veins. The familiar scent of Tara's faintly citrus perfume isn't helping her, either.

She presses her fingers to her forehead for a moment because she needs to think, and the room is tilting a little as the heat in her body rises.

Tara pulls out a hundred dollar bill and brandishes it with a smirk before rolling it up. "Only way to enjoy the best coke to be had."

Sophie dimly registers the faint Southern accent. She watches Tara bend to the table and snort the white powder up through the green paper. Javier does the same at the opposite end of the table. Tara leans back into the couch and holds the rolled-up bill out to Sophie.

Sophie shakes her head. "No thanks. We did a few lines at the club."

Tara shrugs and moves back to the table. Her left nostril is slightly red from the line she just did. Sophie's hand strokes through Tara's dark gold tresses, and Tara hums in the back of her throat in response. When she finishes the second line, she tosses the bill onto the table and relaxes into the couch cushions. Sophie wraps an arm around Tara's waist and leans in close.

"Are you rolling?" Tara's whisper tickles her ear.

Sophie smiles even as she looks down at her trembling fingers. "Yes."

Even though she's halfway out of her mind with the high, Sophie can feel Javier watching them. She cranes her neck to catch his gaze, shivering at the hungry predator lurking in his dark eyes.

He smiles at her. "Do you like her?"

Sophie curls her lips into an answering grin. "I think I do."

Tara shifts beside her, and Sophie planes her hand downward, past the silk of Tara's dress until her palm finds bare skin. She turns her head, and Tara pulls her into a kiss; Sophie moans involuntarily against her soft lips. She can hear Nate in her ear, but she doesn't stop. It's all making her blood sing: the coke, Tara's hand on the small of her back, Tara's fingers tangled in her hair, Nate barking orders through the earbud, Tara's tongue pushing into her mouth. Tara's lips drift to Sophie's neck, and Sophie lets her head fall back.

"Turn it off," Tara murmurs against Sophie's skin.

Nate responds even though Tara can't hear him. "No. We need to keep track of you, Sophie. What if something goes wrong?"

Sophie groans and buries her head into Tara's neck so she can answer him. "Do it, Nate. You don't want to listen to this."

"Actually, some of us do." She can hear the smirk in Eliot's voice. Damn him.

Tara's fingers slide under Sophie's dress, pressing lightly at the edge of her underwear. Sophie doesn't even try to hold back the moan that rolls past her lips.

"What's going on in there?" Parker asks, and Sophie can almost see the inquisitive look on her face.

"Okay, yeah, you've got thirty minutes," Hardison tells her. "So, I don't know, good luck."

Then her comm goes silent. She misses them for a short second, but then Tara brushes her fingers against her clit, and Sophie's mind goes blank. She fumbles with the zipper of Tara's dress, searching for smooth skin. She remembers now how good this rhythm feels, so different from the dynamics of the team and whatever her relationship with Nate is at the moment. She peels the dress from Tara's chest and cups one breast in her hand as the teases the other with her mouth. Tara's thumb is rubbing gentle circles on her clit, and Sophie bucks her hips at the sensation, her back arching as she closes her teeth around a nipple and flicks her tongue against the tip.

Tara groans and pushes Sophie's underwear to the side. She slides two fingers into Sophie, and Sophie spreads her legs further apart. The angle is bad, but there's enough heat and friction as Tara curls her fingers that it doesn't really matter. It would be easier if one of them lay down, but Sophie's learned that giving up control in any arena is dangerous, and she has Tara pressed against the arm of the couch.

Sophie pushes Tara's dress up her slender hips and rips off her underwear. Tara's fingers move in and out of Sophie in a slow, deliberate rhythm, her thumb occasionally brushing against Sophie's clit. Sophie wastes no time and pushes two fingers of her own into Tara, curling them forward, then adding a third. Tara rocks her hips forward into Sophie's hand, her pupils blown wide; Sophie's sure that her eyes match.

Tara pumps her fingers faster. Her thumb circles Sophie's nerves with a tight pressure. Sophie paces herself to Tara, even as she feels her orgasm building. Her muscles go rigid as the sensation gathers, then she comes so fast and hard that she almost collapses to the side. Tara's hand grabs her arm, holds her in place even as her muscles clench around Sophie's fingers.

The room is spinning around Sophie now, bright stars of white dancing on the edges of her vision. She pulls her hand back and licks it clean, her eyes locking onto Tara's. She breathes, long and slow.

* * *

><p>Playing Annie Kroy feels like slipping into a magnificent pair of designer heels; it's glorious and completely satisfying, but it can hurt like hell at the same time. She often feels that she uses the worst parts of herself to be Annie. Parts she would like to forget.<p>

It's an identity she creates while working with Tara. They're in London, technically supposed to be laying low after a near-disastrous job in Portugal, and they're bored. They have money to burn, but that isn't the point. The itch to pull a con is always there.

They plan for two weeks. The point of this con isn't to steal money or art. It's something new: stealing and trading information. It requires them to play different sides; it makes the con all the more dangerous.

It turns out that infiltrating the London mob isn't all that hard. Annie Kroy is an instant favorite with her quick tongue and ruthless tactics. It takes less than a month for her to become connected with those highest up in the organization, and the wealth of the secrets she plunders is astronomical. It feels like a big game, up until the moment that she is standing in front of an unarmed man, her gun pressed against his forehead and her finger poised on the trigger.

He's not anyone important, but his fumbling during a business deal has resulted in a raid by the Scotland Yard that has landed two very powerful men in jail. Mob law dictates that he has to die, and Annie happens to be there at the moment. She can't refuse.

She has never killed anyone before; Tara has, and she never talks about it. But it doesn't feel all that hard. He's begging for mercy, and all it sounds like is a lot of _noise_ so she decides to make it stop.

It's an interesting thing to see a bullet go through someone's head. Some blood splatters on her coat because she is standing too close; she hopes it comes out later. It is her favorite coat.

She doesn't remember going back to her apartment, but she's aware of Tara's hands undressing her, guiding her to the shower, and Tara's voice asking shaky questions that she can't answer because she can't make out the words. The water pours over her body, almost hot enough to scald; Tara washes her hair, scrubs her skin until she feels boneless and in limbo.

She doesn't speak until much later when she's wrapped up in thick blankets and Tara is combing the tangles out of her hair.

"I killed someone today."

"I know."

She looks across the room and sees her coat lying at the door where Tara took it from her. She really hopes that blood will come out. It is her favorite coat, after all.

* * *

><p>Parker fiddles with the padlock in her hands until Eliot jerks it away with an irritated growl. She just rolls her eyes and turns to Hardison to find new entertainment.<p>

"I'm bored. We should do something."

Hardison shakes his head as he keeps typing at lightning speed. "Not much to do, mama, as long as we're stuck in this room."

"Can't I go outside?" She knows that she's whining, but this is the second day of their lockdown, and she feels like she might explode into little pieces if she doesn't _do_ something.

Anything, really, even if that means shopping with Sophie.

Eliot answers her first. "No. Nate was very clear: we have to stay inside and out of sight. Much rather be anywhere else."

"Aw, you don't like spending time with us?"

Parker's lips twitch with amusement because Hardison is now focused on one of their favorite activities: Eliot-baiting.

"I've never been a big fan of forced play-dates." Eliot smirks. "Or babysitting."

"Aw, man, why you gotta be that way?" Hardison puts his hand over his heart and adopts a pained expression. "That just hurts me right here."

She accompanies him with puppy-dog eyes that she directs toward Eliot. Eliot tosses the padlock in their direction; Hardison flinches even though she catches it easily. She waits, grinning.

"Fine, I'll play Monopoly with you," Eliot finally says.

She bounces excitedly in her chair as Eliot trudges into the next room to get the game and Hardison closes his computer. And when they start playing, she tries to pretend that a little bubble of happiness isn't sitting inside her chest, so tight and bright that it hurts to breathe, because they just give her the little car, hide that horrible horse statue, and play by her rules, which includes leaving all the money in the bank and only being able to use what they each can steal.

She does smile when she lifts the entire bundle of orange $500 fake bills. And, she might also swipe Eliot's wallet later on; Hardison's, too, because she likes having a complete set.

* * *

><p>Nate waits for the others to get situated in their seats, his hands clutching to his glass half-filled with whiskey. Sophie's eyes bore into him, heavy with disappointment and accusation; he ignores her.<p>

"Hardison, run it."

The television screens come to life with pictures. Hardison moves to the front of the room. Nate drains his glass and sets it aside.

"Okay, our client is here on behalf of her brother. He was killed two months ago by some guys in this Mexican drug cartel." Hardison gestures at the screens as he speaks, pointing out the victim and the offenders.

Eliot frowns. "Why doesn't she just go to the police if she knows who did it? It's an open-and-shut case."

"Except for the fact that those responsible ran back to Mexico," Nate interjects. "She doesn't know why he was killed. As far as we know, he wasn't caught up in this drug cartel. They just killed him."

"But, why?" Sophie shakes her head. "That's a completely unnecessary risk."

"It doesn't matter."

"It could, Nate."

He groans and turns to look at Hardison. "We'll figure it out. Hardison, go on."

Hardison nods and presses a button on his clicker. A picture appears at the forefront. "This is Javier Cruz. He's in charge of the cartel. But, they don't just shuffle drugs into the U.S. They help illegal immigrants get across the border as well. Now, until recently, Moreau was giving them a nice chunk of change."

"That's our way in," Nate interrupts. "He's going to be looking for a new investor."

"And, which one of us will that be?" Sophie asks, her eyes still focused on the televisions.

Nate shrugs. "I'll do it, with Eliot as my bodyguard. You can be the roper."

"It's going to explode in your face," she replies, tilting her head to one side. "Your only character is 'Obnoxious American.' Two American men just show up, waving money around, they'll be suspicious."

Nate tries to quash his look of irritation. "Then what do you suggest?"

"I can go in. I've done this before. It was an excellent con Tara and I pulled a long time ago."

Parker frowns. "I thought you were an art thief. There's nothing really worth stealing in Mexico. Well, money, of course. And, maybe artifacts..."

"Tara isn't an art thief, though. She prefers money or information that can be sold. When we worked together, we pulled a variety of jobs." Sophie looks at him now. "It was also our most dangerous, and we conned the Russians once."

"She's right, Nate," Eliot says, frowning and crossing his arms over his chest. "These guys, they don't hesitate to kill. They don't play by the rules like the suits we normally take on, and they're nearly untouchable on their home turf."

"If you go in, Eliot will be your back-up," Nate tells Sophie. "The trick is getting Javier and his men to cross back into the U.S. so we can double-cross them."

Sophie sighs. "We'll need a long con. Minimum will be two weeks, but it will probably take longer."

Nate stands up and grabs his glass as he walks to his kitchen. "Okay. Everyone, go and pack. We'll leave in the morning. Hardison, I want all the information you can find on these guys."

"What do you think I do with all my time?" Hardison throws his hands up into the air. "I already done all that, man."

"Then go book our flight. Just, you know, not here." He jerks his head toward the door, then turns to the bottle of whiskey he left out earlier.

Hardison leaves, muttering something under his breath about a lack of gratitude. Parker skips out behind him, and Eliot follows after her. Nate sighs and pours a liberal amount of whiskey into his glass. He drinks it in one go and walks over to Sophie, who is still rooted in her chair.

"What are you doing?" He sinks into the seat beside her.

"Figuring out the best way to approach this."

"I thought I was the one who comes up with the plans."

She turns to look at him, and he almost flinches away when he catches sight of her narrowed eyes.

"I was talking about the identity I'm going to use."

He pushes away the twinge of guilt attempting to take up residence in his chest and says, "I need to know that you'll listen to me on this one."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm talking about your tendency to go off-script."

"Are you implying that I'm a loose cannon?"

"I just want to keep you safe."

He reaches out a hand to rest on her thigh, but she shifts away.

"And, I need you to trust me. I know what I'm walking into, and I can take care of myself." He really doesn't like the hard smile on her face. "People are afraid of Sophie Devereaux for a reason."

"You know, Soph, it's disturbing when you refer to yourself in the third person."

Her eyes flicker, and he catches a glimpse of vulnerability, but then it's gone, and she tosses her head in an imperious manner he doesn't quite believe.

"It's a part of an identity, and that's not always the same thing as me." She turns her shoulders away from him, a clear dismissal. "I don't expect you to understand."

He almost gets angry, but that will be playing right into her hands. He really needs a way to get control of the situation. And, there are other things that he wants.

He stands up and moves right behind her, his arms stealing around her waist. He dips his head down and kisses her neck, his teeth pressing into her skin. She doesn't respond, and he's not in the mood for patience. He cups one of her breasts in a rough hand, stroking and pulling through the fabric until he feels her nipple harden under his fingers. He's hard now, his erection straining against his pants and pressing into her hip.

She moves suddenly, and her chair crashes to the ground. She turns to face him, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, and pulls him into a kiss. He pushes his tongue through her parted lips and lifts her dress over her hips. She steps away from him, face flushed, and bends over the conference table. He grins, one hand unbuttoning his pants and the other pushing her skirt up and out of his way.

He fucks her right there, hard and fast. She moans and presses back against him. She comes first with him buried deep inside her and his fingers on her clit. He orgasms a few strokes later, falling forward on top of her and effectively pinning her in place.

She leaves without speaking to him, and he goes back to his whiskey. Trade one vice for another, and it will all equal out eventually. He's wearing a grim smile. Not that he knows what he's doing with her. Not that he can even guess at what she wants anymore. Since San Lorenzo, they fuck, and it's an unspoken rule that they just don't talk about it. He sips his drink, savoring the taste of the sharp liquid, erasing the traces of her lips.

* * *

><p>Nate can think of at least ten different things he would rather be doing than running down a street in Damascus after an irritating and infuriating grifter with dark hair and eyes that has given him the slip twice already. He's hoping he can cut her off at the next street.<p>

Luck is on his side today, and he rounds the corner to see the woman standing with her back to the alley wall. She looks far too composed for his tastes, so he loosens his gun in his holster and keeps his eyes trained on her hands.

She just smiles. "I don't think we've had the pleasure of exchanging names. I'm Sophie Devereaux."

It figures that she's British, and he can feel the automatic pull towards her, the desire to let go of his weapon and maybe reach out to touch her. He fights against it; he knows better.

"Nathan Ford. You've taken something that doesn't belong to you."

She smiles mischievously and slips a statuette from her coat pocket. "Is this what you're looking for?"

He nods his head slowly. She just tilts her head to the side and replaces it in her pocket.

"I'm sorry. I have a very eager buyer waiting for me to deliver this to him. I always fulfill my promises."

"There's a first time for everything."

"Are you going to throw clichés at me until I get bored and just give the statue to you?"

He grins in spite of himself, and he thinks she moves because it seems like her coat is suddenly revealing more of her body than before, but he can't be certain. Whatever he may have thought before, he does know now that he's up against a master.

He steps forward, drawing his gun and pointing it at her. She straightens her spine but does not move. His eyes never leave hers; he reaches into her pocket and withdraws the statuette. She arches her neck, and her breath skims across his cheek in quick, warm bursts. Up close, he notices how beautiful she actually is and he can smell her perfume. He dips his head as she tilts her head back to look up at him, and his lips brush against the corner of her mouth.

Her mouth curves into a smile. "Well, Mr. Ford, I might just have to let you catch me more often."

He flinches away from her at the sound of her voice, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She doesn't make a move in his direction but he again feels that need to shift back into her orbit.

"I'm married." That statement really needs more force behind it; as it is, it sounds like an excuse rather than an actual reason.

This time, she does start to walk to him; her hips sway and he watches her like a man who has wandered the desert for days and has just seen a mirage of an oasis. "That doesn't mean an…arrangement can't be reached."

"As lovely as you are, Miss Devereaux, I am happily married." He smirks as he reaches for his handcuffs. "And, you are a thief."

She echoes his twisted smile and murmurs, "That I am."

Before he can pull out the cuffs or his gun, she's gone. He considers chasing after her, but he still has the statuette, which is what he was sent after. So, he decides to call it a day, and he tries to dismiss the woman from his mind. However, she flits along the edges of his thoughts even after he returns home to Maggie; and if Sophie does appear in his dreams on occasion, he decides he can live with that. After all, he loves his wife and his job.

* * *

><p>Eliot wonders at times like these why he thinks his job is a good idea. Sure, it pays well and uses all of the skills the U.S. military so considerately honed, but it can be a real pain in the ass. Like now.<p>

It's supposed to be a simple job. Moreau needs an item of particular value retrieved from a client. Eliot is known for his skills at getting into tough areas and bringing back what is asked of him. It makes sense that Moreau drops him in the middle of a war-torn country. What Eliot didn't count on is the battle currently raging right in front of him.

He doesn't know what they're fighting about. Doesn't really care, either. They're just in the way, damn it, and he has a job to do. It wouldn't normally be a problem. But, Moreau has him on a deadline, and if Eliot doesn't make it back on time, he might as well cut and run now. He might be Moreau's favorite at the moment, but that doesn't mean Moreau will be any more lenient with him than the others.

So, he's stuck, and he needs to make a decision fast before he wastes too much time. He can go around this conflict, but it will take an entire day out of the time he has left. It's a risk he can't afford because he's taken long enough to even get this far, and he has no idea how difficult this retrieval will be.

Fucking insurgents. Thinking that spilling more blood will make things better. They'll just prop up a new dictator and be back in this same position in ten years or less. Idiots. All of them. But he doesn't want to get involved. He had enough of fighting other people's wars when he was in the Army, and he has no intentions of doing that here. He just doesn't really care.

He finds shelter because the fight is moving in his direction. A man is shot right in front of him, and Eliot goes for the gun out of instinct. He hasn't used one in a few years; it's one of the perks of working for Moreau. He gets to choose how he carries on with his work, and as long as he delivers, Moreau doesn't complain. It's a shitty gun. It'll do, though. The basic principle is still the same: point and shoot and people die.

He fires on the men without discrimination. As far as he's concerned, they all can die. They only stand for one of two things: greed or idealism. He's fought in a lot of different places with all different kinds of men, and when it comes down to the wire, it's always about one of those two things. That's what men are willing to die for. Their own gain or ideas that can't even exist in reality.

In his opinion, that's a poor trade for life. Especially the lives of those caught in the crossfire.

He doesn't know if it's because he hasn't done this in too long; he doesn't know if he's just stopped caring enough to actually see who he's shooting (killing) at. He does know that it's his bullet that rips through the body of a twelve-year-old boy who shouldn't be out there holding a gun. He does see the fear on the boy's face; he hears the grunt of pain and the thud of the boy's body when it hits the ground. He does feel the icy hand of regret clench around his soul and the distinct knowledge that this is only one in the long line of deaths he's left in his wake.

It takes him a moment to shake it off and keep moving. A sprint behind some buildings takes him past the village borders, and he's on the other side of the fight that is pushing deeper into the village. He considers going back. There are some things that become so ingrained that they become instincts. But, he has a job to do. Moreau will be waiting, and if he wants to keep his job, he needs to keep moving so he can go back. After all, he kind of likes the life he has right now. There is no reason to give it up for these people. It won't matter.

* * *

><p>Sophie stumbles into her hotel room, knowing she might as well be walking into a war zone. She still hasn't shaken her high, so she has no chance of even being prepared. She hates fighting from a disadvantage.<p>

"What the hell was that?" She can _feel_ the tension and anger rolling off of Nate, and all she wants to do is push him onto the bed and fuck him.

Cocaine makes her way too horny.

She shakes her head, tries to gather her thoughts. "Just keeping in character. I wasn't expecting for her to be there."

"How is that part of the job? Would you have just fucked anyone who was there?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Tara is different."

Her legs are too weak to hold her body up any longer, so she makes it to the bed and collapses on it. Her heels slip from her feet, and she grins up at him; damn, but he's sexy when he's angry.

He runs his hands through his already wild hair and asks in a low voice, "What do you mean by 'different'? What secrets are you keeping from me?"

"A lot." She leans forward, thinking about maybe pulling her skirt higher up her leg.

"Sophie, stop it. I need you to understand that you could have messed this up. I knew this would be a mistake."

"I didn't do anything wrong."

"Oh, no? You fucked Tara, of all people, in front of the mark! What the hell would you call that?"

She narrows her eyes because she _has not_ botched this, and she knows why he's really angry; not that she's going to bring it up.

"If you must know, Tara used that same identity when we pulled our con on the Fuentes cartel. It will all work out in the end."

"You don't know that."

"No, I don't know. Just like you don't know everything."

"This isn't about being in control."

"Isn't it? Why don't you tell me what you're really angry about?"

He stops and then starts pacing the room; she can see that he's physically aching for a drink. She feels a twinge and wishes she could have another line; and, that may just be a problem. The team doesn't need two addicts.

"I'm not jealous." He says it slowly and stares her down, and all she can hear in her head is _lies, lies, lies_.

She stretches languidly. "Right."

He turns and slams his fist into the wall; she listens to the dull thump of flesh meeting the wall. She slides her feet along the carpet, savoring the feel of the soft fibers against her skin; standing, she walks toward him.

"You've never been able to lie to me." She doesn't touch him, not yet.

"And, I always know when you're lying, but you still do it." He faces her; she can't read his expression. It makes her nervous. "You never tell the truth."

"You're such a bastard!" It comes out as a hiss, but he doesn't flinch at the venom.

He grabs her and pulls her against him in a bruising kiss; she twists a hand in his hair and pushes back because this is not the way she wants to do things. He doesn't let her go, so she shoves him away, falling against the wall and clipping one of those stupid side tables. The vase sitting there slams first against the wall then falls to the floor; it shatters, and she remembers that Parker had liked it.

"Get out!" She's trembling with fury, and she _still_ wants to fuck him.

She hates him, loathes him, wants to _destroy_ him. He doesn't say anything; he just looks at her and leaves.

* * *

><p>"Again." Eliot pushes him back.<p>

Hardison stumbles and tries to regain his footing. "Man, you're going too fast. I can't _do_ this. People like me, we ain't made to hit people and stuff."

"You can do this, and you will." Eliot raises his arms in a defensive stance and nods his head. "Come on. Try it again."

Hardison bounces on the balls of his feet, eyeing Eliot for any weaknesses; this might just be a training session, but Hardison has never been above playing dirty when it comes to proving physical prowess.

He moves in, feinting like Eliot showed him, and he manages to land a glancing blow on Eliot's chest before Eliot does something with his legs and Hardison ends up on his back.

"I _told_ you," Hardison grumbles even as Eliot helps him up. "I ain't going to be able to get it."

"You're doing better."

"Liar. I just don't understand why you're making me do this."

"Parker and Sophie can defend themselves. I'm only one person. I ain't going to be around to save your ass every time."

"What about Nate?"

"I _always_ make sure I'm around to save his ass. He's too drunk to be any good in a fight."

"And I'm too puny. We've covered this before: I'm a geek, you're a fighting god. Those don't mingle well."

Hardison grabs a towel and wipes the sweat off his face before grabbing a bottle of orange soda; Eliot snatches it away before he can even get it open.

"Hey, give that back." Hardison feels like a whiny kid, but he's tired and he really just wants to go home, take a long shower, and settle down for a few hours of WoW.

"Bad for you. Try some water." Eliot tosses a plastic bottle to him.

Hardison takes a sip and grimaces. "It has no flavor."

"It's water."

"Okay, let's go again." Eliot comes back over and resumes his stance.

Hardison shakes his head. "No way. I thought we were done."

"It's only been twenty minutes."

"It's been a freaking hour!"

"Just a few more times." Eliot beckons him forward. "I won't knock you down this time."

Hardison eyes him doubtfully. "Just no messing with the hands. Or the face. Can't hurt the moneymakers."

"I'm sure the world would be devastated."

"Come on, man, I'm serious."

"Trust me, I've got your back. This is just practice."

"Practice for what?" It's the question that's been burning in the back of his mind this whole time; the one he's actually wanted to ask since Eliot started training Parker, then Sophie.

"In case I'm not there."

Hardison sees the look on his face and has to keep from flinching; it's a look that speaks of swimming pools and running out of time and bounties and Moreau and fear and being out of control.

He blinks. "Okay. So, just try coming at you again?"

"Yeah. Don't be so obvious this time."

"Sure. That'll be easy."

He doesn't end up on the floor this time, but he does go around with a sore shoulder for the next week that Parker insists on poking; it's all cool, though, because he definitely got a good hit in.


	2. and darkness is real

**This is a little bit of a shorter chapter, but hopefully I'll have a faster update for the next one. Let me know what you think. :)**

* * *

><p>She crouches next to Hardison, Bunny clutched tightly to her chest. They can hear Sophie and Nate fighting in the next room. Hardison is attempting to distract her with his chatter. She keeps her eyes trained on the closed door; she bites her lower lip and glances in Eliot's direction. He's pacing, his head bowed.<p>

She doesn't know exactly what's going on, but it isn't good.

"Sophie isn't going to leave again, is she?"

Hardison looks up from his laptop and at her. "I don't think so, mama. Listen, this is just a fight. They almost never get along."

Parker shakes her head and tightens her grip on Bunny. "This is different."

She falls silent. If Sophie does try to leave, she'll steal her back. Fuck what Nate says this time around. She's not really good at fixing things, especially when it comes to feelings and people. All the wrong words come out of her mouth, and she makes everything worse. She tries to be better, but that doesn't really work.

She thinks through contingency plans instead. These people, if they leave, they'll take away a piece of her. And she doesn't appreciate it when people steal from her.

There are times when she doesn't know where she stops and Hardison begins. They flow together until everything is all mixed up and confusing, and she's too opened up and vulnerable. It makes her afraid, and she doesn't like that feeling at all, but she can't run away because whatever this is, it's so different from anything else she's ever known. It's like a lightning bolt and a rainbow and electricity that shimmers in misty air, and she's trapped but she's not trying to run either. She doesn't know if it's love. Sophie and Nate are probably in love, and they keep hurting each other. Parker almost hopes that she doesn't love Hardison if that's what it turns out to be. She'll keep whatever she has.

There's a crash then the familiar sound of something breaking into pieces. She wonders absently if it is the vase she had been considering moving to her room. It's pretty much worthless, but she likes the pattern of delicate silver flowers on the white porcelain. She hopes that Sophie only broke that ugly lamp.

The door bangs open, and Parker laughs a little when Hardison jumps at the sudden sound. She watches Nate stalk out. He goes immediately to the bar and grabs the first bottle he sees.

She gets up and heads into the bedroom. She still has a tight grip on Bunny. She finds Sophie sitting on the edge of her king-sized bed, trembling and clutching at the bedspread with white fingers. Sophie's still high from the cocaine she snorted earlier in the evening.

Parker hesitates. She searches for something to say, but nothing comes to her. She scowls at her mind's lack of cooperation, but she sits down beside Sophie. Sophie doesn't look at her, which is just as well. Parker stares at the floor and plays a little with Bunny's floppy ears, thinking. The memories of lonely nights spent curled up with her stuffed animal come to her. Her fingers stroke the worn fur in a calming rhythm as she debates her options and decides on a course of action.

She turns to look at Sophie, holding Bunny out into the space between them. "You can hold Bunny if you want. He's better at this than me."

Sophie's wet eyes lock onto her, and she panics for a moment, sure that she's said the wrong thing and made Sophie cry. Then, Sophie's giving her a gentle smile. Her hands take Bunny from Parker, bringing him up to her chest in a tight hug. Parker watches and waits. She doesn't like that Sophie's shoulders are shaking with her sobs. Bunny doesn't seem to be helping. He's supposed to make Sophie _not_ cry.

She leans in and pats Sophie's head awkwardly. When Sophie's tears don't stop, Parker scoots in closer and wraps her arm around Sophie's waist. She thinks she might be doing this right. Then, she has her arms full of Sophie, who is clinging to her torso like she's scared of disappearing.

Parker fights off the instinct to fling Sophie away and rests her chin on the top of Sophie's head. She's not good at fixing things. But as long as Sophie is holding onto her, Sophie can't leave. And maybe that's good enough for the moment. It's only temporary. She thinks about alcohol and different families every year and explosions and lost children and trust and honesty and grey areas and hiding in air ducts and tears and hugs and smiles and the feeling of coming home. Nothing lasts.

* * *

><p>Parker doesn't have any friends. She remembers being in school, but she doesn't remember ever having a best friend or even constant playmates.<p>

But, she's okay. She might only be eleven, but she's already learned that it's dangerous to trust people, especially adults; she has been through fourteen foster homes and twenty-three schools. She packs light and fast, always ready for the next move. So, maybe that's why she doesn't make friends. She'll have to stay in the same place for longer for people to even actually learn her name.

Bunny knows her name. She whispers secrets to him when they think she is sleeping. He makes her happy. He's the first souvenir of her favorite hobby: stealing. She likes the way the word "thief" sounds; it's full of soft and sneaky sounds. She sometimes says it over and over, in a whisper, then drawing out that last little hiss. She thinks she is a thief, but she doesn't tell anyone because people say that it's wrong and she should be a good little girl.

She prefers having what she wants. So, she slips wallets out of pockets and stows small trinkets in her coat.

Until the day she sticks her fingers in the wrong pocket.

She sees the tell-tale bulge in his pocket and slips close enough to take it; the second she wraps her hand around the grand prize, the man whirls and grabs her by the arm.

"Let me go!" She twists furiously against his iron grip, trying to make a loud fuss, but the street is so busy that no one pays any attention.

Besides, he's an adult and she's a kid. No one cares about her.

"Trying to steal from me?"

He's not that scary-looking, but he is staring down at her like he knows her, and she doesn't _like_ it. She stops fighting and hangs limply from his grasp.

"No," she spits out, her voice and face sullen.

He chuckles and pulls her out of the sidewalk traffic. "You're a little scamp. I almost let you get away with it because you're pretty good."

"Really?" He's the first adult she's found who hasn't immediately given her a lecture on the evils of stealing and a lot of other boring things she thinks grown-up people have to say because they never get to have any fun.

"But, you could be better." He smiles at her, and she echoes it; he seems friendly.

"People tell me that I shouldn't try to get better."

"Well, I'm not like most people. Now, do you have a family?"

Her foster family at the moment flashes through her mind before she answers. "No."

"You need a home, then." He starts walking, and he hasn't let go of her, so she stumbles behind him, having to almost skip to keep up. "Stick with me, kid, and you're going to be one of the greatest thieves who ever lived."

She learns later on that his name is Archie Leach.

* * *

><p>Hardison knows Parker is in his apartment the second he walks in the door. A cereal bowl with milk still in the bottom has been abandoned on his kitchen counter, and his television is turned to Cartoon Network, though the volume is lower than Parker normally likes. Then she skips out of his bedroom, dressed in a pair of his sweatpants and a tank top, and he swallows hard.<p>

"Hey, mama." He picks up the bowl and puts it in the sink to distract himself from the way his pants are riding very low on her hips and the fact that it doesn't look like she's wearing a bra.

She beams at him and jumps onto his couch, her feet flying up into the air. "I couldn't sleep. Where were you?"

"Working with Sophie on making sure she has a concrete alias."

"I thought you kept up with all that when we're not on a job."

"I don't touch the ones she had before we started working together. I don't know where she got them from, but they're pretty much airtight. It's impressive."

"Since you haven't helped her with them?"

He sees a flash of Bunny as Parker bounces a little on the cushions and finally settles down. He grabs his laptop from his bag and goes to sit next to her.

"It sounds like I'm conceited when you put it like that." He flexes his fingers and starts browsing through the information he has for this job; it makes him uncomfortable that he doesn't have that much to go on.

Parker scoots closer to him and prods at his shoulder. "You're the best. You know, we went through all of this today."

"Yeah, and normally I have a ton more stuff, but this is it. These guys are pretty good at staying off the grid."

"Does that mean I'll get to steal more stuff?"

Her eyes light up at the thought, and he can't help smiling. She really is the most spectacular woman he's ever seen. He wants to reach out and touch her, but he doesn't. He likes the idea of her sticking around a lot more.

"Pretty sure it does," he answers. "No idea what, though. Nate didn't have a plan when I left."

"You were at Nate's apartment?"

"Yeah. That's where we work." His eyes skate over her face, and he takes in her furrowed brow. "What is it?"

"Did Sophie leave before you?" She's put her hand on his shoulder in her absentminded state, and he really wishes he could focus more on that than the continuing mess that is Nate's relationship with Sophie. Or the other way around.

"No." He frowns. "Seriously, what's up?"

"I just…do you think they're sleeping together?"

He laughs and only stops when he realizes that he's offended her. The hand on his shoulder disappears.

Sighing, he shakes his head. "I don't think they are. They've been like this ever since we started working together, and you'd think that getting laid would make Nate, you know, happier. Man seriously needs to lighten up."

Parker nods her head, but he's now wondering if she might be onto something. But, with a lack of work to do and a system too hyped up on caffeine to go to sleep for a few hours, he needs to find something to do. And, he won't mind if Parker stays for a little longer. He's getting used to the smell of her jasmine shampoo and the fact that she's inched a little closer to him so that their thighs are just barely touching.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" he offers.

"A Disney movie," she says, breaking into a smile and jumping off the couch.

"Where you going, girl?" He ambles to his collection of DVDs and pulls _Aladdin_ off the shelf. It's turned into one of her favorites.

The sound of the microwave starting and the instant aroma of popcorn is his answer, and he turns around to see her pulling two bottles of orange soda from his fridge.

"We need snacks," she explains in a patient voice while still making him feel a little stupid. She's picked it up from Sophie and normally applies it to situations where it doesn't fit. He thinks she does it mostly to annoy Eliot and Nate.

She tosses a bottle to him, and he catches it a swift movement. "Heh, look at that. Eliot's not the only one who can catch stuff."

"You generally miss 57.4 percent of the time," she responds as she starts to dig through his couch cushions.

"What are you doing? And, how do you know that?"

"It's simple math, Hardison. And, I'm looking for a package of gummy frogs I put here last week." She tugs a plastic bag out and drops it in his lap. "There you go."

"Why were you stuffing gummy frogs in my couch?" He opens them anyway and offers them to her first.

She takes one and chews on it, bouncing again as the movie starts. He realizes he's not going to get an explanation. He shrugs it off and goes to get the popcorn and two bowls. Parker likes to mix her gummy frogs with her popcorn, and while he likes both, he doesn't want them together.

She doesn't even notice when he puts the bowl in her lap, and he drapes his arm over the back of the couch when he sits down, letting his fingers dangle just close enough to her shoulder that he can touch her.

* * *

><p>Eliot counts at least half of this mission a success when he and Sophie aren't shot on sight. He does keep his focus on the three hulking men hovering behind Javier Cruz because Sophie is well on her way to wrapping Cruz around her little finger.<p>

They've been led to the back room of a club. The techno beat of the music bleeds through the wall. Sophie settles into a chair at the table in the room and crosses her legs to expose the maximum amount of skin she can.

Javier lays a gun on the table and takes a seat opposite her. "Now, Miss Kroy, let's talk business."

"Are you attempting to threaten me?" He can't help smirking at the way Sophie bristles at the weapon.

"Of course not." He doesn't like Cruz. He likes his plan of action much better: hurt people until someone tells them what happened.

Sophie sits back in her chair, but she angles her body more towards Eliot. "I think the question I need an answer for is if you have the resources to handle moving my merchandise."

"I have very few losses when making shipments." Cruz leers at her. "I personally ensure that your merchandise will make it to wherever you want it to go."

"I should hope so." She leans forward and runs her fingers over the barrel of Cruz's gun. "If anything happens to my merchandise, you are to cover the losses. In return for your services, I will give you a forty percent cut after I cover my expenses."

"That's more than anyone is willing to pay." Cruz crosses his arms across his chest, and Eliot starts to move towards Sophie. She shakes her head and keeps her eyes on Cruz. "What's the catch?"

She smirks, obviously pleased that Cruz is almost on the hook. Eliot relaxes as she turns further in Cruz's direction.

"If any of your employees are apprehended, they are not to be traced back to me. Having the NSA attempt to chase after me will be an annoyance I won't tolerate. If you do attempt to double-cross me, I will have your business destroyed."

"You couldn't do that."

"I believe you remember the Fuentes cartel from about sixteen years ago? I had a deal with them, and they tried to turn me in and keep my merchandise for themselves. Obviously, they no longer are in existence, and here I am." The smile on her face is pure wickedness, and Eliot finds himself matching it; he's pretty sure they are making a terrifying pair at the moment.

One of the bodyguards shifts uncomfortably. Cruz finally nods his head and pulls out a flask and a small plastic bag filled with a white powder. When he pours it out onto the table and starts to manipulate it into lines, Eliot realizes it's cocaine. He wants to say something, but Sophie catches his eye and gives him a slight shake of her head. Sophie takes a dollar bill Cruz hands to her and bends over a line, snorting it in a quick movement. Eliot struggles to keep his face impassive, but he manages.

It goes on, with a few shots in between the lines, and Eliot knows that she has to be high, especially since this isn't something she does every day. They're talking in soft voices that he wouldn't be able to hear without the earbuds. It's all he can do to keep from leaping over the table and strangling Cruz.

"Would you like to move to a more comfortable place?" Cruz reaches across the table and places a hand on Sophie's arm, stroking her skin.

"I don't mix my business with personal pleasure," Sophie replies, probably with a flutter of her eyelashes and a seductive smile. At least she's still in character.

"Neither do I." Cruz stands up and motions to his bodyguards.

Eliot steps forward and hovers at Sophie's elbow as she rises from her chair in a liquid movement. She waves him away in irritation.

"Why don't you go back to the hotel?" She says this in a sweet voice with a touch low on his abdomen, and he can see even in the dim light that her pupils are way too wide.

This is an awful idea. But he has no idea how to refuse her without breaking out of his character.

"Don't leave her alone with them," Nate demands.

Eliot locks eyes with Sophie and says in a low voice, "Call me when you're ready to come back to the hotel."

"I'll take good care of her," Cruz interrupts, slipping an arm around her waist.

Sophie shrugs him off and looks up at Eliot. "Of course, darling. Now, go away like a good little boy."

Eliot sweeps a glare over the muscle still lurking in the background before leaving the room. Nate is barking orders through the comm. while Parker is asking questions and Hardison is listing off every possible bad outcome, so Eliot rips the thing out of his ear so he can think. He knows better than to tail them because they will expect something like that. His only option is to go back to the team and wait for Sophie to finish hooking Cruz.

* * *

><p>Nate lifts his head and surveys the dark room. He hasn't been moved since they were all left here. He can't believe that he's in this position. Sophie is the only one who is still out in the wind, and there is no guarantee that she's even still alive.<p>

He pulls at the rope binding him to his chair. Parker stirs beside him, and he hears her struggle with the rope wrapped around her torso and legs. Her chair rattles against the floor until one of the guards stalks over to her.

"Stay still," he growls, slapping her.

Nate holds back his protests because they won't do any good. He'll probably only get a beating for his trouble. His eyes have adjusted enough to the darkness to look at Parker and see the betrayed look she is giving him. He sighs and cranes his neck to see how the others are faring.

Eliot is a mess of blood and bruises, slumped over against the rope tied around him; Hardison is awake and trying to nudge his chair closer to Eliot to check on him. Tara catches Nate's eye and shakes her head. She feels like this is her fault.

He can't tell her that it's really his.

The door opens, then, and the light flicks on. He shuts his eyes against the glare and opens them to slits until he adjusts to the difference.

"Glad to see you're awake, Mr. Ford," George Westmore says as he grins and walks closer.

Nate hears Eliot growl behind him, and he is instantly relieved that Eliot is at least functioning.

"What do you want, Westmore?" Nate finally asks.

Westmore gestures to the door, and Sophie steps through it as he says, "This was all for Miss Kroy. We knew each other once upon a time."

Sophie's face is hard as stone, and she glares at Westmore. "Let's just get this done."

"I'm going to keep my side of the bargain, never worry." Westmore circles his five hostages and spreads his arms wide. "Pick the one you want."

"What are you going to do with the rest of us?" Hardison pipes up.

"It all depends on whether Miss Kroy keeps her side of the bargain."

"What bargain is that?" Nate growls because Sophie looks deathly pale as her eyes flicker across all of them.

"The details are unimportant," she says through gritted teeth.

That is bad. So, so beyond bad, really.

"Well, Miss Kroy, which of my hostages do you wish to take with you?" Westmore asks as he steps closer to her, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

Sophie looks down at Nate, and he tries to give her an encouraging look. She gazes past him and points to Eliot.

"Him. Let him go."

Sophie ducks her head and waits as the guards untie Eliot from the chair and pull him up; he almost falls over as soon as he gets on his feet. Nate holds his anger in check when the guards prod him forward. Sophie moves to Eliot's side and slips his arm over her shoulders, supporting his weight against her body as they walk out the door.

Westmore waits until they are gone to look at the rest of them. "She will bring back an item of great value to me. She's left the rest of you to die."

"Does she know that?" Nate asks in a low voice as he watches Parker and Hardison out of his peripherals, seeing them both panic.

Westmore laughs. "No. She thinks she gets to take one more of you with her."

Westmore grins and surveys them. With a nod of his head, he turns on his heel and strides out of the room, his entourage of armed men following after. Nate bows his head, resigning himself to the fact that he is no better position to negotiate an escape than before. _I hope you know what you're doing, Soph._


	3. tell me, do you dream?

"Check it out."

Parker swings the duffel bag off her shoulder and shakes out bricks of cocaine, a smile of glee on her face.

Hardison raises an eyebrow. "Damn, that's a lot of cocaine."

"Well, we need enough for Sophie to be considered legit," Eliot says as he collapses into a chair with a groan. "Hey, toss me an ice pack."

"Drug boys cause you any trouble?" Hardison asks as he leans over to grab an ice pack from the fridge beside him.

He tosses it underhanded to Eliot, who catches it and immediately presses it to his right shoulder.

"Not too much. Shoulder is just kind of stiff."

Parker pokes at his shoulder while she's tossing around a package of cocaine. "This isn't shaped like a brick."

"Just what they call it, girl," Hardison replies.

"But, why? It doesn't even look like a brick."

She pokes a finger into the plastic and makes a face at it; leaning closer, she sniffs it.

"And it doesn't really have a smell. So why would you want to snort it up your nose?"

Hardison grabs the bag from her and says, "To get high. The smell don't really matter when that's what you're after."

"But, if I'm going to snort something, I want it to smell good. Like strawberries. Or orange soda." She smiles a little. "Or chocolate chip pancakes."

"Good thing it don't, then. Don't need you snorting some and getting high off your ass," Eliot grumbles.

Hardison nods his head. "Exactly. So, seriously, how many kilos do you got there?"

"Twenty," Parker announces as she stuffs them all back into her duffel bag.

"Jesus." Hardison nudges the duffel bag with his foot. "How much is all that worth?"

"According to if they cut it to make it go further," Eliot says as he pulls the ice pack away from his shoulder and rotates his arm. "A kilo costs about $10,000 at the least in the U.S. Selling it just like that would bring in about $200,000. More if you cut it."

"How do you cut it? It's a powder." Parker looks inquisitively at Eliot. "And how do you know so much anyway?"

"I've done jobs with drug dealers before. You pick up a few things." He pushes his hair out of his face and pulls it into a ponytail. "Cutting it is mixing in another substance, like sugar, so you can sell less for more."

Parker frowns. "Well that's cheating."

"So how does Sophie's deal with this dude work? Because he could always sell it, make a shit-ton of money and then tell her it only sold for so much, pocketing the rest," Hardison says, turning back to his computer.

"He'll pay for it upfront," Eliot explains as he stands up and starts to pace the room. "Probably at around $20,000 a kilo. He'll sell it, bring back what he takes in, and if it's more than what he paid, she'll take the difference before giving him his cut."

"But what's going to make him come back?" Parker asks, pulling her box of locks over to her side and pulling one out.

"His cut should be larger than the extra money he makes. Besides, she's a supplier and you don't screw over your sources if you can help it. Too easy to run out of anyone to do business with."

Hardison spins in his chair and fixes his eyes on Eliot. "And exactly how trigger-happy are these guys?"

Eliot frowns. "Well, that's the dangerous part of all this."

* * *

><p>She's come to equate seeing Sophie with bad news. Maggie feels a little bad about the instant judgment, but it stands to reason since the last time Sophie showed up outside her door, she was telling Maggie about blackmail and an Italian and death as a possible future for at least part of the team.<p>

Thankfully that all turned out all right. For all of her efforts to stay on the right side of the law, Maggie constantly finds herself liking this weird group of thieves.

She's in the middle of debating whether she wants a cup of tea or glass of wine when she hears the knock on the door. When she opens the door to find Sophie standing in the hallway, looking a little disheveled and fidgeting, she decides a bottle of wine is in order.

"Come in." Maggie's learned that while Sophie is very good at reading people, she's unusually hesitant around her; Maggie has yet to work up the courage to ask the reason why.

She heads to the kitchen, figuring that Sophie can find the couch on her own. She grabs two wineglasses and a bottle from her wine rack (a pretty wooden one that Sophie had sent to her the Christmas after the job with the two Davids) and opens the wine before going to her living room. She sees that Sophie has taken a place on the far end of the couch, and Maggie smiles when her eyes light up at the sight of the wine.

"I thought you could use a drink," Maggie says, making sure to keep her voice even and pleasant despite the fact that she's holding back a barrage of questions. She pours the red liquid into a glass and hands it off to Sophie. "What pleasant and completely not dangerous reason has brought you here tonight?"

Sophie has the good grace to look abashed at the pointed question, but she takes a sip of wine before answering. "It's about Nate."

Maggie swallows some of her own wine as she muses over that piece of information. "What about him?"

Sophie shakes her head and tilts her glass back to her lips; Maggie doesn't blame her. Discussing the man you love with his ex-wife isn't exactly an ideal situation. As Sophie continues to avoid speaking again, Maggie decides it might be a good idea to start drinking some more; maybe getting a little closer to being drunk will make this conversation easier. Besides, she needs to keep up with Sophie. The woman drains her glass before five minutes go by, so Maggie graciously refills it. Thankfully she grabbed the cheaper bottle.

It's not until two glasses later that Sophie looks ready to talk again.

"I'm sleeping with him."

Maggie blinks. Jealousy surges first before she remembers that _she_ left _him_; she forces herself to not take another long swallow of wine because she _does not_ deal with her problems with alcohol, and she takes a calming breath.

She says the only thing she can think of, "And?"

For a moment, she worries that Sophie won't understand what she's looking for, but luckily Sophie has managed to either get some confidence or some of her inhibitions are gone. Whatever works best.

"I want more, though." Sophie blushes a little, and Maggie thinks that this woman really is exquisitely beautiful in a way that's completely unfair.

"Does he know that?" It's the simple role of girlfriend, and it's easier to fall into than actually thinking about Nate moving on.

Sophie shrugs and lets out a bitter laugh. "We don't talk anymore. And, I can't talk to Tara about it because I don't know how she really feels about the idea of me being with Nate because she can get very jealous if she wants to, and…"

"Why would Tara be jealous?" Maggie cuts her off with the question because she's curious about what Tara has to do with this and, well, she can do without the word vomit.

Sophie's eyes widen. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Well, you have, so just tell me about it."

Sophie starts to fidget again, so Maggie fills the woman's glass and waits for Sophie to take a few swallows. Sophie seems to settle down, so Maggie relaxes and wonders if she'll eventually get an answer. If she even wants it. There are some things she can do without knowing.

"Tara and I…we have a sexual relationship. It's not romantic, more like friends-with-benefits."

Maggie reaches for the wine bottle and pours a liberal amount of red into her glass because she does not have the words at the moment to say anything useful. Sophie takes the opportunity to finish off her wine, and Maggie wonders absently if she might need to pull out another bottle before the night is through. She can't take many more surprises after the past…she looks at the clock on the opposite wall and is surprised to see that an hour is already gone.

Honestly, she needs to say something, so she just spits out what's floating around in her head. "You're really fucked-up."

Sophie laughs, and it's like a barrier between them falls away so Maggie laughs with her until her sides ache and she's crying. And this is the closest she's been to anyone in a long time, which is kind of fucked up in its own way because Sophie is a thief and Maggie isn't, and really, Maggie needs to make friends with normal people.

But Sophie doesn't feel the need to constantly bring up Sam's death like Maggie doesn't know it happened, and she never looks offended when Maggie laughs at a joke, unlike that morose group of people at her support group who really need to dig the sticks out of their asses. And, this feels better than therapy because Maggie is pretty sure there is no moving on from losing her son.

In the end, really, it's stopped mattering so much that she will always resent Sophie a little bit for managing to have parts of Nate that Maggie never had, even when they were married. Maybe part of that is the fact that Sophie is so clearly damaged that it's a lot harder to hate her than it should be. And maybe it's because she doesn't really want to be with Nate because he's worlds away from the blue-eyed boy she married. Whatever. Maybe it doesn't matter at all.

* * *

><p>"I'm done, Sophie," Tara says tiredly as she starts throwing clothes into a suitcase. "All this stuff with Ford, almost getting caught on every single fucking job…I'm not doing it anymore."<p>

"Like that's my fault?" Sophie launches herself off the bed and steps between Tara and the suitcase.

"You certainly aren't going out of your way to avoid him."

"He knows who I am, Tara. But it's not like we haven't gotten away every time," Sophie says softly. "I can't predict where he's going to turn up next."

Tara shakes her head. "See, I don't believe that. You _know_ him. Face it. You're in love with him, which is stupid, reckless, and completely putting my life at risk. And I don't fucking appreciate it!"

"I'm not in love with him!" Sophie shouts back. "He's married with a kid, and I'm not that kind of person!"

"Deny it all you want, but you know it's true." Tara pushes her way past Sophie and keeps packing. "He's too close. If he figures out that you have a partner, we're beyond screwed."

"Are you jealous of him?"

Tara snorts. "Yeah, no. You're a good fuck and all, Soph, and I like you, but I'm definitely not jealous."

"Are you sure?" Sophie slips her arms around Tara's waist and presses her lips to Tara's neck, sucking lightly at her skin.

Tara shrugs out of her grasp and snaps, "I know what you're doing, and you can't manipulate me. I'm a grifter, too."

Sophie flops down onto the bed and asks, "Well, what do you want me to do?"

"Get rid of him."

"What?" Sophie looks quizzically at Tara for a moment before realization dawns on her face. "Forget it. He has a wife and a child!"

"That hasn't stopped you before," Tara tells her in a sharp voice.

"But he…he's a good man, Tara!" Sophie shakes her head and sets her mouth into a firm line. "And he's never arrested me even though anyone else would."

"Yeah, and every time he catches you, he takes away everything you steal, leaving you with nothing," Tara replies as she zips up her suitcase.

"That's a sight better than losing everything and rotting away in jail," Sophie shoots back.

Tara sighs and picks up her suitcase. "I'm going to lay this out for you. You can be in love with him all you want, pine after him, whatever. But don't ever forget who you are. He might be the knight in shining armor, but you're not the princess in the story. And you never will be."

"I know that."

"If you did, then we wouldn't be fighting about him," Tara replies quietly.

She starts for the door, pulling her suitcase behind her. Sophie turns her head away, blinking back tears, but the second Tara turns the door handle, Sophie runs across the room to her.

"Wait, Tara, don't." She's breathless with tears in her eyes, and she forces herself in between Tara and the door. "You're the only person in the world I trust."

Tara leans her head against the wood and stares at Sophie, narrowing her eyes. Sophie just looks right back, her dark eyes pleading. Tara drops the suitcase, tugs Sophie closer, and kisses her.

When she lets Sophie go, Tara murmurs, "I'm not going to walk out on you."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

* * *

><p>Tara lounges on the loveseat and watches Nate hover over the minibar. Honestly, the last thing they need is to be left alone, but here they are. Sophie is, understandably, hiding out in Parker's hotel room, Parker has disappeared with Hardison, and Eliot is refusing to get involved, so he's taken up residence elsewhere.<p>

And, she's stuck here because they all have to lie low for the moment, and Sophie is pretending like she can't hear Tara beating on the door.

Nate pours two little bottles of whiskey into a glass and downs it all in one gulp. She would be impressed if he hadn't been doing the same thing for the past hour. She's a little surprised that his stash hasn't run out yet. He still hasn't turned around to look at her.

"You don't like me very much anymore, do you?" She's always hated silence.

His fingers fumbling for his glass are the only indication she has that he even hears her. She sighs.

"Sophie's right. You deal with things by avoiding them."

That gets his attention. "Don't talk to me about her."

"I wasn't. I'm talking about you."

"Don't."

"What else am I supposed to do? I'm stuck here. On your orders."

"Do what you want. I don't care."

"So if I end up shot, you won't feel guilty?" Her eyes glimmer a little as she leans forward. "I bet it would actually make you pretty happy to get rid of me."

"Why did you do it?" He turns around, finally, and she's taken aback at the cold fury on his face. "You knew. You had to."

"Actually, I was high off my ass, so I wasn't in any condition to figure out that you're screwing my best friend. However, I did guess a little. Maybe I just didn't care."

"Why not? You know…."

"What? How you feel about her? To be honest, I don't give a shit about your feelings. And, if we want to get technical, I had her before you ever came into the picture."

"But you never…" His voice trails off again, and she wonders how in the world Sophie ever manages to have a conversation with the man.

"Loved her?"

He clears his throat, but the lack of a real answer is what she needs to confirm her suspicions and her long-standing opinion that Nate is an idiot.

"You know, you really don't have any room to be angry with me. It's not like the two of you are exclusive."

"How do you know that?"

"Surprisingly, I actually talk to Sophie. You might want to try that every now and then."

"I do talk to her."

"Since you started fucking her?"

He reaches for the fridge door, and she knows she's losing him, and the last thing she wants to do is ruin this weird relationship for Sophie. For whatever reason, the woman actually likes this man.

"You do know that you always give her the higher ground in a fight, right?"

And, with that, she has his attention again. It's a little sad that he spends a large portion of his time with a grifter and still doesn't know when he's being played. At least it makes this easy enough.

"What do you mean?"

"You let her get to the moral high ground when, honestly, you normally have the better standing, and if you can keep her from getting there, then you can't lose."

"You're her friend. Why are you telling me this?"

She shrugs because she's not exactly sure why, but she does know that neither Sophie nor Nate are going to be able to manage an actual relationship on their own. And, well, the only other option is stepping in as Sophie's girlfriend, and she has no intention of doing that. She's never been second-choice.

"I think you can use all the help you can get. She's a lot better at this than you." She flips her hair over her shoulder. "Besides, I share secrets when I'm bored."

"Anything else you want to share?" He's smiling a little and moved away from the minibar, so she feels like her job is done.

"Go talk to her. Or, better yet, fuck her. She's horny as hell right now."

"We just had a fight."

"Make-up sex, then. Just make the first move for once." She grins up at him. "Or, I can go for you."

"Yeah, no thanks."

She waits until he leaves to raid the small fridge for little bottles of vodka. While she wants Sophie to be happy, it's taking a lot more work than she feels is necessary.

* * *

><p>Sophie groans as she wakes up and rolls to the side. Her head is pounding, and she feels like if she makes any sudden movements, she's going to throw up. She curls up into a ball and sorts through the vague details of the previous night she can remember. She recalls fucking Tara in front of the mark, coming back to the hotel room; the ache between her legs isn't as bad as it was last night, but she squirms a little on the sheets at the memory of her fight with Nate and the way he had pinned her to the wall.<p>

The last thing she remembers is falling back onto the bed and Parker's arms wrapping around her waist. Her fingers stroke absently against soft fur, and she looks down to see Bunny still wrapped up tight in her arms.

She slips the stuffed animal off to the side and pushes herself up into a sitting position, swallowing against the dry tightness of her throat. Parker is no longer in the bed, so Sophie manages to get up and stumble to the bathroom in search of some water to drink and maybe splash on her face. She rubs at her eyes, grimacing when she pulled her hand away and saw a black smear of eyeliner.

She grabs a bottle of water from beside the sink and sips at it as she studies her reflection. She looks like shit, her make-up in a ruined mess, her eyes bloodshot. She has a meeting with Cruz that afternoon, so she decides to skip straight to a shower.

The hot water is a relief on her tingling skin, the nerve endings flaring to life, still a little overly sensitive from the cocaine. She resists the urge to trace her fingers along her body, dip them between her legs, because she would prefer for it to be Nate's hands, his mouth.

When she feels clean and a little more human than before, she switches the water off and steps out into the steamy bathroom, starting when she sees Parker.

"What are you doing in here?" Sophie asks, groping behind her at the towel rack before realizing there isn't a towel on it.

Parker shrugs, unconcerned about Sophie's lack of clothing. "You missed the morning briefing. Nate was worried you wouldn't be able to make your meeting this afternoon."

Sophie crosses the floor and pulls a towel from the linen closet, wrapping it around her body. "I'm fine. Did I miss anything important?"

"Tara showed up."

Sophie furrows her eyebrows but smoothed out her expression before turning back around to Parker. "And?"

"I think Nate hates her," Parker replies with a grin. "Oh, and she's helping us now instead of keeping with the con she was running."

"Nate can get over himself."

"Why is he so mad at her? Is it because you fucked her last night?"

Sophie sighs and leans against the counter. "Maybe. I don't know why he cares."

"Because he wants to be the one you sleep with," Parker says with a sage nod.

Sophie pauses, and she realizes too late that Parker is watching her with unusual intensity because Parker smirks a little.

"He is sleeping with you. I knew it!"

"Parker, please don't tell anyone," Sophie pleads quickly. "It's complicated between us, and I don't want to mess it all up."

Parker studies her for a moment then smiles. "I won't tell."

Sophie lets out a relieved breath and grins back. "Good. Thank you. Now, I need to get ready."

"Yeah, you only have two hours, and you need to eat," Parker says as she skips past Sophie back into the bedroom.

Sophie groans. "Why didn't anyone wake me up earlier?"

"I thought you needed the sleep. You looked so much happier." Parker stops and cocks her head to the side. "I'll help you, if you want. Even though I don't really know what to do."

"I would really appreciate it if you could help me," Sophie replies quickly, knowing she needs to take advantage of the offer before Parker panics and withdraws it.

"What do you want me to do?"

"If you could get me some food, then dry my hair while I eat, that would be a great help." Sophie fumbles her fingers along the dresser until she locates her comb.

Parker gives her a small salute and bounds out of the room as Sophie starts to drag her comb through the tangles of her hair. She winces against the sharp pull and starts the process to turn back into Annie Kroy.


End file.
